


Grim Grinning Fucks

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Big Brother Len, Haunted Houses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Mardon, Protective Mick, everybody just wants to protect Barry okay, he is very smol, protective Len
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:31:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5830999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haunted houses are great, until you have Barry Allen coming in with Mark Mardon, Leonard Snart, and Mick Rory.</p><p>Happy Halloween in January.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grim Grinning Fucks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [languageismymistress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/languageismymistress/gifts).



> This wasn't supposed to be so long, I swear.

Collectively, their experience with haunted houses were on opposite sides of the spectrum: Mardon used to go to one every year as a kid; Mick’d gone to eight, one for each year before his parents died; Len’d never been. As for Barry, he went a couple times with Iris, but only a couple because they scared the shit out of him.

There is a difference between knowing the mechanics behind it and getting slammed with it. When they were little, Iris couldn’t keep from laughing despite her attempts to comfort him. She laughed when Barry told her he was going to Maurier Manor.

“You’ll be fine,” she said. “It’ll be fun!” she said.

Objectively, Barry knows this. He’s supposed to have fun, supposed to go with his boyfriend, his friend, and his friend’s husband for a good time. There’s a strict no touch policy, and he’s got enough speed to high tail it outta there if he needs to. Because there is no shame in admitting you’re scared.

And hey, maybe it’ll be different this year. After all, Barry’s faced plenty of bad, superpowered people in masks over the past year. What can be scary about regular people in masks?

Barry knocks on wood just in case.

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t help.

((&))

Since this is Len’s first time at a haunted house, he’s feeling cheerful. Barry can’t tell by his face, but he almost never holds Mick’s hand like that unless he’s happy. Which makes Barry happy—right up until he sees the looming manor across the street.

It’s a brownstone Colonial, an A-roof resting on two pillars with a big wrought iron lamp hanging on a chain. The doors are waited upon by a grim woman in a butler suit, make up causing her young face to appear old and ghastly. When new guests are allowed to pass, she bows and opens the way.

No strobe lights greet those guests—nothing but dim, eerie candlelight. Somehow, that’s so much worse. Some windows are boarded up, others have fake broken glass, and a couple have rhythmic lights crackle through them, like Mardon unleashed a lightning storm in those rooms. Together with the creepy music playing through ground speakers, and the gratuitous fog machines, Maurier looks like a bona fide abandoned, haunted mansion.

Barry swallows and tears his eyes away. The ticket booth is cheerful at least, warmly lit, with smiling attendants dressed in Maurier Manor shirts and jeans. For a moment, Barry wishes he could just hang out here while the others go on ahead.

Len interrupts his thoughts. “Maurier Manor was built before Central City was a bustling urban settlement. Stephen Maurier, a rich entrepreneur, had it built for his wife Marianne and their four children.”

Barry perks up. “Did something happen to them?”

Len smirks. “Well it wouldn’t be haunted without violent deaths, would it Barry?” oh great. “The four children consisted of a son and triplets.” whoa. Marianne Maurier was a tough woman. “In 1867, they moved into the manor. Four years later, the son, Gregory, hung himself in the front hall.”

That gets Mick’s attention, as well as a few strangers around them. Mardon’s fingers knead Barry’s hip.

It gives Barry the courage to ask, “What about the triplets?”

Len brushed invisible lint from his leather jacket. “No one knows exactly. They just disappeared one day. In 1989, their bodies were found stuffed in their bedroom wall. Marianne shot herself out of grief, and Stephen was admitted to a mental institution.”

“Why are you telling us all this?” asks Mardon, sounding bored. Barry can tell he’s fascinated though; he’d been leaning towards Len the entire time.

In response, Len looks at Barry. His smirk is gone. “Because that’s what they’re going to tell you, and you looked like you needed a preview.”

Fondness blooms in Barry’s chest. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a funny way of showing you care?”

“Barry, that’s just cold.”

Mardon huffs. “Couldn’t even last until we reached the front.”

“You shoulda heard him on the way here,” Mick grumbles.

“Don’t start Rory. You’re almost just as bad.”

“Hey!”

Len speaks over them. “Gentlemen,” he says, and oh no, Barry can practically feel the pun coming—“chill out.”

Mardon groans, but Barry laughs, so he’s accomplished his goal. Len really does have a funny way of showing he cares.

They get their tickets. Barry doesn’t hesitate to walk across the street.

((&))

Of course a short burst of bravery doesn’t last. As soon as the guests in front of him move towards Maurier’s doors, Barry stiffens, gut twisting on a spike of fear.

How is he scared right now? He’s faced a giant telepathic gorrilla—pretty sure a haunted house doesn’t compare to that.

Len bumps his shoulder, ever the older brother. Barry sends him a quick smile, though he’s not sure it’s convincing.

Mardon’s grip tightens. Yeah, probably not convincing.

A kind old man in a long coat and hat welcomes them. His white beard contrasts his dark skin, complimenting the light grey of his eyes. Dark freckles dot his cheeks, curling with his smile lines.

“Welcome to Maurier Manor!” he announces in the same tone he used on the people before them. “Most haunted house in Central City! I’m just gonna give you a couple ground rules, as well as a brief history of this fine manor, and then you can be on your way.”

Mick grumbles. Len elbows him, despite his clear impatience. He’s got a telltale twitch in his free hand. Barry’s smile becomes a little more genuine when he notices; Len’s excited for his first haunted house.

The old man continues: “First off, I’m Matthew, but you can call me Matt if you like. Now, Maurier Manor was built…” he gives the same spiel Len did, only with grander gestures. Family dies or goes insane, manor was abandoned, reopened as a museum, yada-yada.

Just as lightning starts to spark along Barry and Mardon’s joined hands, yellow on blue, Matt gets to the rules: “It’s all pretty cut and dry here at Maurier. Strict no touch policy, you don’t touch them, they don’t touch you. If you need to exit at any time, all you gotta do is find a staff member in a Maurier shirt, and they’ll guide you to an exit. Plenty of ‘em in there, so don’t worry about missing your chance.

"Tour goes through the bottom floor of the manor and in the back gardens. Don’t go anywhere else.” he might as well have begged for the Rogues to misbehave. Barry heaves a quiet sigh. “That’s it! Have a good time, boys!”

Barry makes sure to thank him, since he knows the other three will forget. Matt tips his hat.

The butler lady bows. Really? Not even some prep time?

Door opens. Nope, guess not.

“Finally,” Mick gripes, charging inside.

Len allows himself to be dragged; he must be having a great night. That makes one of them, at least.

“Come on,” Mardon says. Barry gulps.

They head into the dark.

((&))

The front hall has a chandelier covered in fake cobwebs, dim lights barely providing enough to see by. Barry focuses on the solidity of Mardon’s body slotted against his side as they approach a receptionist’s desk in the middle of the room, kicking up dust from the ornate rug.

A woman stands behind it, raven hair draped over her face. Hers is a classic maid’s uniform, apron stained red with blood.

“Names,” she intones, quiet and high. Her long red nails tap a large book in front of her once, twice.

Mick laughs. While Len’s busy studying every minute detail, he takes the old pen and signs 'The Rorys’ in his swooping hand. Barry can’t help but smile.

Until he and Mardon approach the desk and the woman repeats, “Names.”

The book says DEATH CERTIFICATES at the top of both pages. Worse, Barry has to pull away from Mardon to write his name. Thankfully Mardon’s hand stays, sliding to his back and pressing lightly in reassurance.

Once 'Barry Allen’ and 'Mardon’ are entered in the book, the woman says, “The master is delighted to have you.”

Lights blare on the landing above, simulating lightning. The four draw their attention to the spot, and—Barry freezes.

A skeletal figure with thin wisps of wiry hair appears seemingly out of nowhere. His eyes glow a deadly gold, cheeks hallowed out under them. One bony hand settles on the railing; the other points to a door to the group’s left.

The door opens as if on command.

Len looks like he’s having the time of his life. He goes first, leading Mick, followed by Mardon and Barry.

Awesome.

((&))

In all fairness, Barry does last a long time. So does Mick.

Mick’s not scared, though. He’s violent.

Let’s back up a bit.

So, the second room was a drawing-room. An old portrait of the Maurier family sat above a dark fireplace, and someone was playing the harpsichord.

Turns out it was a ghostly woman, who giggled to herself and swayed this way and that as she played. Blood trickled from her pale mouth.

Another woman, elderly and dressed in more finery than her younger companion, hummed along with the eerie tune. Her gown was almost identical to Marianne’s in the portrait, and blood splattered between her eyes and dripping along her face.

The first woman went first. As soon as Len was within reach, she let out a curdling screech, fingers slamming on the harpsichord. Barry jumped; Mardon rubbed his back, snickering at the scare; Len’s eyes filled with childish wonder; Mick seemed thoroughly unimpressed.

It took all of Barry’s self-control and Mardon’s tight grip on him to keep him from speeding from the room when that old woman jumped up and charged them.

Len and Mick were laughing. Barry needed new friends.

Third room was decorated as a nursery. A woman in white gently rocked a mangled corpse wrapped in a blanket, singing a lullaby. Her blonde hair was a mess on her head.

“Come on kid,” Mick goaded, smacking Barry’s shoulder.

“You go!” Barry yelped.

Mardon rolled his eyes. “Let’s not start this. I’ll go.”

Barry whipped his head around. “What? But—”

Too late. Mardon was already walking, leaving Barry cold. Barry’s eyes darted around, looking for any potential threats.

He nearly leapt out of his skin when Cold’s hand clamped on his arm, yanking him between him and Mick.

“Aren’t you a scientist?” Mick said, “Wouldn’t peg you as the type to get scared of a few costumes.”

Barry decided not to answer. Len let him grip the edge of his jacket instead.

Mardon approached the humming woman with his easy gait. “Hey!” he grinned, “My mom used to sing that. Small world!”

Like a switch, the humming silenced. The woman whispered something.

Mardon leaned forward, cupping his ear. “Didn’t quite catch that, lady.”

She repeated in a trembling voice, “I want my child.”

“Isn’t that your child?”

“No…my son…I want my son…!”

She rose from her rocking chair. Cradling her bundle in one arm, she lifted a pale finger. “There he is! My boy!”

She was pointing right at Barry. Len immediately took a step to his left, creating a subtle shield.

Mardon raised an eyebrow. His bravado stayed in place. “Him? Sorry lady, he’s taken.”

The woman wasn’t listening. “My child,” she moaned, “my child! Come to me!”

Suddenly, children screamed. When Barry saw the three bloody ghouls in children’s clothes clawing out of jagged hole in the wall, he screamed too.

Over them, the woman continued her mantra: “Come to me, my child! My child!”

Len tugged Barry into the hallway connecting the third room to the fourth. Barry pants, adrenaline sparking just under his skin.

“Barry,” Len quietly asked, “you alright?”

Mardon and Mick joined them before Barry got the chance to answer. In an instant, he was swept into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” Mardon whispered, “I shouldn’t’ve left you like that. Dick thing to do.”

Barry breathed him in, a mix of cologne and petrichor. His powers sensed the undercurrents of lightning, familiar.

“You’re an asshole,” he muttered into his shoulder.

Mardon chuckled, “Yeah, I know.”

That was when an attendant approached, a young woman with a kind face and wonderfully bright green glowstick. “Sir?” she said to Barry, gently, “Would you like to exit the premises?”

Barry looked at her. Then at Mardon, Len, and Mick. He couldn’t ruin this for them.

“No,” he smiled, “I’m okay. Thank you.”

The woman smiled back. “If you’re sure. I’ve got plenty of colleagues prowling about just in case you change your mind.”

“Really, I’m fine. Thanks again.”

“Alright. Next room’s down that way.”

Barry followed where she pointed. Well, he did for all of two seconds before Mick scoffed and pulled him to the back with Mardon.

“I won’t leave you again,” Mardon told him, “promise.”

And to be fair, he kept that promise as long as he could. Wasn’t his fault what happened next.

Namely, a guy with a knife chasing them all into the back garden, which turned out to be a haunted maze. By the time Barry stopped to look around, he and Mick were alone.

“Mick?” Len’s voice called somewhere to the right.

“Barry!” Mardon yelled from the left.

“Terrific,” Mick muttered. Raising his voice, “We’re here! Meet us at the end!” then he took Barry by the shoulder and said, “Come on, kid.”

Barry stumbled after him. They followed the arrow signs hanging from the brush, taking numerous twists and turns. In the distance, other guests’ screams and boisterous laughter echoed. Overhead, the moon shone full and luminous among twinkling stars.

“Nice night,” Barry said.

Mick snorted. “Spare me the small talk, Allen.” Barry winced; he saw it and blew out a sigh. “Look, why don’t you—” making a vague gesture, “—zip ahead and wait for us in the clear. Shouldn’t take too long to catch up.”

Of all the things he expected, it wasn’t that. Warmth bubbled in Barry’s chest.

“Nah,” he replied, grinning brightly, “I could stand to go slow for a bit longer.”

Mick rolled his eyes. “Whatever, kid.”

He trudged ahead. Barry followed, significantly cheered.

Until they rounded a corner and met a group of hungry zombies. Mick found them amusing, but Barry? Barry hardly kept to normal speeds as he dashed in the opposite direction.

That’s when it happened. Mick and Barry reached the end, the former cackling and the latter trying not to turn into a streak. Mardon and Len were running from their own pursuers, a growling werewolf and screeching wraith respectively. And a zombie grabbed the back of Barry’s neck.

It was like the poor actor lit a fuse.

“HEY!” Mick roared, stomping forward and yanking the zombie away from Barry as Len surged forward and pulled Barry towards Mardon.

Which brings us to the present moment, as stormclouds gather in the sky, rumbling threateningly as they ghost over the moon. Mardon is seething, and Len’s standing in front of Barry in a battle stance.

Mick punches the zombie’s face in.

“Whoa!” Barry cries, “what was that for?! Mardon—is that really necessary right now? Len!”

But Len just crosses his arms and says, “This place has a no touching policy. If we weren’t feeling so generous tonight, you’d be facing a lot worse than a broken nose.”

“It was an accident, jackass!” the zombie yells.

Mick snatches him by his collar. “What did you just say, you little shit?” he snarls.

“ _Mick_ ,” Len says.

“No, no,” interjects Mardon, “let ‘im finish.”

Barry can’t believe no one’s called security yet. Probably because they’re too stunned to move. Well, he’s already caused a big enough scene here; better get moving before someone comes to their senses.

He takes Mardon’s hand. “Come on,” he coaxes, “let’s get back to the car.”

Mardon doesn’t budge. “No one’s allowed to scare you like that and get away with it.”

“He’s just a guy trying to do his job! It was an accident, like he said.” Barry tries another tug. “Babe, let’s go. We’ve caused enough trouble as it is.”

Len rolls his eyes. “Only you would blame yourself for something that’s not your fault.”

Thankfully, he still grabs a fistful of Mick’s sleeve and pulls. Mick grumbles about being stopped, but he drops his victim nonetheless.

Barry sends Mardon a pleading look. The clouds don’t dissipate. Yet, Mardon turns on his heel and calls to a shell-shocked staff member, “We’d like to exit the premises now.”

One glance at Mick’s roiling eyes and the staff member’s leading the way out.

((&))

“You okay?”

They’re in a room above the Rogues’ den, curled up on the couch. In front of them, the TV plays a _Twilight Zone_ rerun. Behind them, Len’s dressed down to pajama pants, t-shirt, and glasses, drinking hot chocolate at the table with his feet on Mick’s lap. The soft clicking and scraping of Mick’s latest project lulls Barry further towards sleep.

“Mm,” is the only reply he can manage.

Mardon laughs and turns him over. Barry lets himself be manhandled until he’s tucked under his boyfriend’s chin. His vocal chords vibrate on a satisfied purr.

“No more haunted houses,” Mardon whispers.

Barry can get behind that.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing flashweather. How'd I do? :D
> 
> LET COLDWAVE RISE
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
